


The Moon Remains To Watch Over You

by purinsu



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Family, Gen, Young Inuyasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7305541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purinsu/pseuds/purinsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izayoi tells Inuyasha the story of Tanabata, the night when lovers meet and wishes are made.  Following tradition, the son makes his wish, and the mother makes hers, but she is claimed by mortality before her wish can be fulfilled.  </p><p>On a night of the new moon, the orphaned Inuyasha meets a demon in white.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon Remains To Watch Over You

 

Furred ears tipped over the page, dark eyebrows scrunching under a fringe of white at the swirling script.  No matter how much he peered at it, the lines and shapes danced before him and made him dizzy. 

How could anyone make sense of these worm squiggles?

“What happens next?” Inuyasha asked.

“After being so angered, Tentei the Sky King took vengeance upon his daughter and son-in-law, Orihime the Weaving Princess and Hikoboshi the Cow Herder.  He placed them on opposite banks of the vast Amano River, which we know as the Milky Way, preventing the two from ever meeting again.”

“That’s just _wrong_ , Mother!” He slammed his hands down, clawed fingers digging into the tabletop and sending a cup flying.  Tea spilled over the open pages of the book, the ink already starting to disappear into the pooling liquid.  Izayoi lifted her hand, heavy with the rainbowed layers of her kimono and her pale, slender fingers righted the unintentional projectile and gently set it back down.  Looking at her son, she saw his golden eyes wet with moisture, mouth drawn in a frown.

“Inuyasha dear, you must be more careful,” she said softly, pulling a silken square from her sleeve to dab at her son’s face.  “Do you shed tears for the star crossed lovers, or do you cry over spilt tea?” 

The boy’s frown deepened and his eyes wandered in uncertainty.

“I…I dunno.  Probably the tea.”

A small smile pulled at her delicate mouth.  “There is still a bit left to the story—”    

“Really!?”  Inuyasha yelped.  He would have flailed in a second fit of excitement if it were not for the sharp of his claws, still sunk in wood. 

“It is true, I admit, but our little accident with the tea has warped the text, making it rather difficult for me to read.”

“Oh.”  Inuyasha’s ears drooped.  He yanked his claws out of the table, landing back on his cushion with a soft thud.

“Luckily for you, I know this tale by heart and am willing to finish it, especially for you.” 

Little white ears perked up. 

“Only, however, if you clean up the mess you made.”  She handed him her handkerchief, still slightly damp from his crying.  “There is a beautiful illustration that I am rather fond of waiting for us on the next page. You wouldn’t want it to be ruined as well, would you?”

“No, of course not!”  Handkerchief in hand, he patted quickly at the page, dragging his sleeves in the tea and nearly knocking the cup over again with his elbows.  Picking at the edge of the damp page and lifting it slowly, Inuyasha turned to the promised illustration.  He gazed down at the picture, then back up at his mother. 

“This is Orihime, right?”  He pointed at the woman with long hair, standing at the edge of a river of stars.

Izayoi nodded. 

“You’re wayyyy more beautiful, mother,” he said. 

“Thank you, Inuyasha.  That was very darling of you.  You can be quite charming when you try,” she praised, patting his head.  “As promised, let us continue the story of Orihime and Hikoboshi. 

“Stricken with grief at being torn away from her husband, Orihime begged her father Tentei to let her meet Hikoboshi once more.  Unable to keep his heart hardened against his beloved daughter, he granted her wish.  If the two lovers completed their duties properly, they were allowed to meet once a year, at the height of summer when the stars shine as bright as the passions that ignite them. 

“On the night of their first planned reunion, Orihime and Hikoboshi realized that there existed no bridge with which to cross the river.  Remaining apart from her lover even for the one night on which they were allowed to reforge their bond, Orihime began to weep.  Called by her cries of distress, a flock of magpies came to her rescue.  In exchange for ceasing the piteous tears that marred her great beauty, the magpies bridged the expanse of the river with their wings, letting the princess travel to the other shore to finally find comfort in her lover’s arms.”

Inuyasha beamed.  “So it is a happy ending!”

“Well, there is one more tiny detail, if you care to hear it,” Izayoi offered with a wry smile. 

“I don’t care how small it is, I want to know!  Tell me, tell me!”

“If you so insist, I suppose I must tell you.”  Izayoi clutched at her chest, a forlorn expression on her face.  “People say that if the night of the lovers’ reunion is plagued by rain, the magpies will not brave the unfavorable weather.  Poor Orihime will be left stranded on her side of the river, with no other choice except to wait another year for the next summer’s night.”

“That’s so stupid.”  Inuyasha’s armscrossed his chest, a huff leaving his mouth.  “The king is stupid for being mean to his daughter. And Hikoboshi is stupid for being useless! And Orihime is even stupider for loving a good-for-nothing guy that can’t even keep her by his side without the help of some dumb birds.” 

Izayoi laughed.  

The laugh didn’t match the snickers of the other children at the sight of him.  It didn’t match the laughter the other ladies of the court would direct towards him, when he sensed something sharp under their flowery tones, and he saw hardness in the glint of their eyes.  If Inuyasha heard the hint of sadness in his mother’s laugh, his young mind couldn’t comprehend it.

“Sometimes, there are things that people _can_ do in spite of love, and there are things that people _cannot_ do in spite of love.”  Izayoi reached out and ran her hand through a ribbon of snowy hair until the ends slid out from between her fingers.

“You will find that out one day, Inuyasha.”

\--

 

Izayoi strolled along the pathways of the garden, grasping Inuyasha’s hand in her own.  Her heart grew heavy at the dark murmurs and snickers of the other aristocrats that reached her ears, their noses up and backs turned, heading down every path except for the one she and her son were on.  She glanced down at Inuyasha.  His ears could surely pick out the details of what was being said, but he showed no reaction except in the way he clenched his hand around hers.

“Inuyasha…”

“I don’t care what anybody says,” the boy said, fidgeting with the mat under his free arm.  “Everyone around here is so dumb.  They’re so dumb that— they’re so dumb, they make everybody in that story with the princess and the cow herder look like geniuses!” 

Eager to get to their destination, he hopped forward and tugged at his mother’s hand. 

“Come on, let’s go!”

“Enthusiastic, aren’t we?”

She lifted up the hem of her kimono with her free hand and shuffled after Inuyasha.  Her eyes crinkled at the familiar pull of his brazen excitement.  Not so long ago, a similarly clawed hand would’ve held her hand gently as she drowned in merriment, running after a tall figure with streaming white hair—

“—Mother?”  Inuyasha came to a stop. “We’re here.”

“Are we?  That was fast.” 

The vision of the white haired man disappeared, replaced by the small figure of her son. 

“Because I can run so fast!”  He let go of her hand and hurriedly rolled the mat out for her.

“That is true.  A little too true, in fact.  Let me rest and catch my breath while we ponder our wishes.”  Izayoi kneeled down and arranged her layers neatly over the mat to watch her son leap about the bamboo grove.  Tied to the branches were small strips of colored paper.  They fluttered in the wind, bearing wishes in celebration of _Tanabata_ , the Star Festival that honors the legend of Orihime and Hikoboshi.    

Izayoi pulled a small calligraphy set and a collection of colored paper slips from the front of her kimono.  She opened the set, putting the inkstone down and pouring water from a small flask over it.  Then she rubbed the stick of ink in the water.  Dabbing the tip of her brush over the readied inkstone, she ran the brush over a piece of paper experimentally.  Making a small nod of approval to herself, she called out to her son.

“It is time to make some wishes, Inuyasha!” 

Bounding over the grass, Inuyasha caught his toe on a rock and narrowly missed knocking over the freshly made ink.  Instead, he tumbled into his mother’s side.

“My, my, it is almost your fate to spill anything and everything possible,” she said cheerfully, trying to locate the brush that had just been in her hand until Inuyasha’s acrobatics had relocated it.  “How convenient it is that your father left you with clothes that could resist being stained or torn permanently.”

Inuyasha righted himself and shook the leaves and twigs from his hair.  The ink beaded and rolled off the red fabric like raindrops rolling off a leaf.

“That’s because everything gets in my way,” he insisted, fingering at the fire-rat clothing and grinning sheepishly.

“Am _I_ in your way?”

“No!” he barked.  A tiny fang bit into his lip, worrying at the soft flesh.  “Never…”    

“I know, I know.  I was simply teasing you a bit.”  Izayoi put down her brush to straighten Inuyasha’s collar.  Her eyes widened as she felt the handle of the brush wedged in the wrinkles and folds of the fabric, the tip staining her son’s hair in a black streak.  “If only the hair you inherited had the same qualities as your clothing.”  She covered her mouth with a sleeved and tried to stifle a chuckle.

“What?”  Feeling around and finding the damp spot, his hands drew back, blackened.  He sniffed at his fingers.  His mother’s ink usually smelled of salt, yet all he could smell today was damp soot.  “Ugh…but I just washed my hair yesterday!” 

“And you’ll have to wash your hair again today.”

“This is so unfair.  Why can’t my hair be like yours all the time.”  He glared at his mother’s lustrous dark hair. It flowed down over her shoulders and back to pool over the ground. 

“Probably because you would refuse to take a bath at all if I were unable to see the dust and grime that settles in this white mane of yours.”  Inuyasha opened his mouth, denial waiting at the tip of his tongue.  Izayoi dissuaded him before he could even start.  “A visit to the baths is due for tonight.  I cannot let my only son walk around drenched in ink and…. and that is that!”   Izayoi’s lip began to tremble and her eyebrows drew together in hurt, only betrayed by the twinkle in her eyes.

“Okay, okay,” Inuyasha said, giving in.  “But only because I don’t want to make my own mother cry.”

“What a good little boy.” Izayoi patted the crown of his head, then turned her attention to the papers.  “Why don’t we make those wishes?  What color would you like?”  She held up the papers in front of her, making a fan.

“I want red, like my clothes!” Inuyasha yanked the targeted slip of paper out from amongst its fellows.  Taking the papers from his mother’s hands and recreating her fan display, he fluttered his eyelashes over the tops of them in perfect imitation of a courtesan.  “And what color would you like, my lady?”

Izayoi giggled.  “Maybe we should spend more time away from the peacocks of the courts.”

“Maybe you should spend more time telling me what color you want.”  His lashes continued to flutter out of control.

Indulging her son’s whims, she plucked out a paper covered in gold leaf. 

“I want gold, like your eyes,” she said simply.  Placing the paper flat on the ground, she took up her brush once more and swiftly wrote her wish out and signed her name. 

“Wait, you wrote yours already?  What did you wish for?”

“It’s a secret wish!”

“But…”

“If you want to know my secrets, you’ll have to study hard to learn how to read and write.” 

“When I become a grown-up and I can read and write, you’ll let me read all your secrets?”

“Yes, I will.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Inuyasha paused thoughtfully.

“Well, I’m not a grown-up, so I can’t read or write yet.  I guess I can’t keep my wish a secret from you because you have to write it down for me.”  His expression brightened.  “But I can sign my name in hiragana! I-nu-ya-sha,” he said, spelling out his name in the air with his finger, his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration.

“That’s the spirit.”  Izayoi brought the brush to the red paper.  “And what would your not-so-secret wish be?”

“You know Orihime and Hikoboshi?”

“And why would your wish concern them?”

 “Because I want Mother and Father to meet across the stars like they did.” 

Izayoi’s hand began to quiver, threatening to drip ink all over the paper, just as tears threatened to spill over her own full lashes.  She ducked her head to let her hair hang low over her eyes. 

 “Except all the time, not just once a year,” he continued, “That part of the story was dumb, too.” 

Finished with his wish, Inuyasha’s nose twitched at the smell of salt and moisture.  Paired with the soot of the ink, their combined scent matched the air of all the nights he spent falling asleep at his mother’s side while she wrote in the candlelight. 

\--

 

“Let me in!”  Inuyasha shook in rage.  Arms held him tight until he no longer had the freedom to scream. The protective instinct of his demon blood boiled, but the reality of his immature strength kept him pinned in place. 

Muscles strained helplessly and growls vibrated his throat.

“Let your damned mother die in peace!” the guard holding him roared.  “It’s the least you could do after making her life a living hell!”  He pushed Inuyasha’s face down into the floor of the hallway, crushing his body with his weight.

The boy’s face contorted, eyes darting wildly.  “Shut your mouth! You don’t know _anything_ about my mother!”

On the other side of the doors to Izayoi’s private chambers, a few ladies-in-waiting cowered in the corner furthest from where Izayoi lay on her deathbed, her final visitor standing nearby, looking at the gardens past the latticed doors.  He spared not even a cursory glance for her when she coughed, coating her bedsheets with a spatter of blood. 

“Sesshoumaru, please.”  Izayoi’s voice gasped out weakly.  “Look after Inuyasha.”   

“I have no interest in humans or their hanyou offspring.”  Sesshoumaru took a step back away from her, pulling his fur away from any incidental fouling.  His eyes finally drew away from the spring night’s landscape to look down at Izayoi.  He scanned over the overwhelming evidence of her illness and stopped his gaze as it fell upon her dark eyes.  “You should be grateful,” he said, “that I chose to show my face at such a vile event as a diseased mortal’s imminent death.”

He made to leave through the sliding doors that led to the gardens, but a feeble hand reached out to grasp at his trailing fur.  The women hiding in the corner squeaked, but Izayoi had no energy left to fear for a life that was already forfeit.  The demon lord’s steps halted immediately. 

With his hair silhouetted against the night sky, Sesshoumaru turned his head back to flash a look of warning at her, eyes burning. 

Yet all she could see reflected in his eyes were his father’s tenderness shining like the sun, her son’s vigor bright with affection.  When she looked into Sesshoumaru’s eyes, the pain and desperation of her diminishing life dulled the hatred in them, refusing the truth and replacing it with what was loved and familiar. In his eyes she saw one last reminder: the gold paper of her wish made on Tanabata, glowing softly under the light of the heavens.

Izayoi’s grip tightened in the plush of Sesshomaru’s fur.  “I wish that Inuyasha will be happy, loved, and protected, even if I were unable to stay at his side.”  She stifled a cough to force the rest of her words out.  “At least—at least until he is old enough, and strong enough!  Strong enough to protect himself.  At least until he can read and write.  At least on the nights of the new moon—” She collapsed against her pillow, her hand dropping limp to the floor.

“Literacy? Dates of the lunar calendar?”  The corner of his mouth pulled itself into the smallest of frowns.  “Your illness drives you to madness, woman.”

Uninterrupted this time, Sesshoumaru slid out to the balcony the moment before the door from the hallway crashed open, Inuyasha landing sprawled across the tatami.

“Mother!” 

The guard panted in the doorway, bleeding from his arm.  “How dare you bite me, you mongrel!” 

Deaf to the guard’s complaints, Inuyasha stared out the balcony door.  His eyes were drawn to something billowing and pale as it disappeared into the dark. 

Coming back to his senses, he whipped his eyes away from the impossible sight back to his mother, collapsing next to her. 

“Mother?  Are you okay?  I heard voices and…who was that?” He stroked her brow with the back of his hand, blinking his eyes slowly.  He let out a gasp.  “Was that, was that _Father_?”

“Not quite, my dear.  Just your brother.”  She let out a sigh.  “Though I might be seeing your father soon enough.  Something tells me your wish from the other day might come true before mine.”

“Brother?  But—wait.” Inuyasha stilled the movement of his hand across her face.  “What do you mean? About seeing Father?”

“I can hear him calling for me from the far side of that celestial river, Inuyasha.” She lifted her hand to cover his small hand.  “It’s for forever, like you said.  Not like silly Orihime and Hikoboshi.”

“But, but you can’t!”  His eyes grew wide and filled with tears.  “I take it back!  I take my wish back!” 

“Wishes are very strong things, Inuyasha.  Especially when made with strong emotions.  It isn’t in our power to deny them.”  Izayoi let one last smile grace her lips.  “You wished for my happiness, Inuyasha, and for that, I thank you.” Her lids settled closed over her tired eyes. 

Inuyasha leaned in. He clenched his eyes shut against his crying. 

“Mother!”

Her voice barely audible, Inuyasha’s ears swiveled to catch what he could.

“…what is it, my child?” 

“When you make it to the river, you’ll help her, won’t you?” He sniffled and drew his sleeve across his face.  The smell of wet and salt was overwhelming without calligrapher’s ink to dilute it.  “You’ll help Orihime cross with you, won’t you?  Tell me you will….”

“You have my word.”

“And Mother?”

“Yes?”

Inuyasha nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, the tips of his ears quivering with each weak heartbeat he felt.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Her hair was cool against the wet of his cheek. 

“I love you too, Inuyasha.  More than anything else in this world.”

And from that world, she parted.

\--

 

The night’s guards heaved at the household gates. 

“How’s that saying go again?”

“Let sleeping dogs lie, was it?”

“Let sleeping dogs _die_ , maybe.”

“And when they’re dead, it doesn’t matter much if they’re in,” the guard said, “or they’re out.”

As soon as the gates opened, Izayoi’s body hit the dirt with a thud.  Dust from the road settled in her tangled hair and on the white layer of her underclothes.  

“And if the bitch is dead, the pup is soon to follow!”  

Blinded and bound by the cloth at his eyes and wrists, Inuyasha struggled against his restraints.  He tried to growl, but choked on the bindings wrapped around his mouth and throat.  His neck bled from being dragged so far.

The guards gathered at the gates howled with laughter. 

“Good riddance, you mangy cur,” one of them said, his bitten arm wrapped in bandages.  He dug his rough fingers into the thick of Inuyasha’s hair.  Lifting the boy by the strap at his neck with his uninjured hand, and by the fistful of hair in the other, the guard flung him through the open gates. 

Inuyasha’s body skidded across the ground.

Stung by the impact, Inuyasha whined, stones biting at his face. 

“And take this other trash with you, while you’re at it!”

Izayoi’s meager belongings thudded against his head.  A comb, and a diary.  A hand mirror.  A folding fan, and a small case that rattled as it struck the ground. 

“You’d best be gone by mornin’, or else you’d wish you were dead too, by the time we’re done with you.”

The gates slammed shut and Inuyasha flinched.  Still jumbled in the head, the boisterous voices clanged through his skull until they faded into a distant haze.

Dragging his bound limbs awkwardly through the dirt, Inuyasha searched for his mother with only his sense of smell to guide him.  Finally bumping his face into her hand, he pushed himself forward and curled up at her side.  Though he already smelt decay closing in on his mother’s scent, he took what comfort he could in the little warmth left in her body.  When even that small comfort ceased to exist, he dug his claws into the rope around his wrists and began to set himself free.

\--

 

Inuyasha ran as fast he could, bundle gripped tightly in his hands.  He darted around the legs of the villagers.  Chickens squawked as he narrowly missed trampling them, and a girl burst into tears when he ran into her, knocking her to the ground.  He would’ve helped her back up—if he hadn’t had his hands full.  If he hadn’t had men chasing after him.

Spotting the bamboo grove at the edge of town, he ran on.   His shadow was set faintly across the ground with what little light was left after the sun had set.

“Hey boy, get back here!”

Racing through the bamboo, Inuyasha’s hair whipped out behind him.  The wind rustled the colored strips of paper filling the grove in his wake as he passed underneath.  Soon, he would be out. 

Beyond the grove was the forest.  And in the forest, lay his sanctuary.  Panting, he sprinted through the last stretch.

As soon as he was shrouded in the forest, Inuyasha dove into the first sizeable bush he could find.  Now that it was completely dark, he couldn’t see the branches that scratched along his clothes and uncovered skin.

“Where’d that brat go?”

Inuyasha could hear the men’s grumbling and the shuffling of their heavy feet through the leaves. 

He pushed himself further into the underbrush, clutching the bundle tightly to his pounding chest.  The footsteps came closer, and Inuyasha curled tighter, burying his face into his knees.  Despite the warm evening’s air, he began to shake.

“He couldn’t have gone far,” a voice said.

“Ah, we should just let ‘im go.  With it bein’ the new moon, the further he gets, the sooner he becomes demon fodder.”  The pair of men chuckled.

“You got that right.  Let’s get back before some forsaken creature gets us, too.”

The cracks of branches breaking grew softer. The footsteps shuffled further and further away.    Only when they were completely gone did Inuyasha raise his head.  He peered into the darkness, seeing nothing except the fuzzy outline of tree trunks.

Creeping out of his hiding place, no one shouted at him.  All he could hear was the sound of insects warming up to their evening symphony.  His muscles relaxed.  Accompanied by the familiar music, he ventured deeper into the forest while a pair of golden eyes followed his every movement.

\--

 

Stopping near the bank of a stream, Inuyasha collapsed, dropping his bundle in front of him. He leaned forward over what lay at his feet, dark hair falling over his shoulders.  He unfolded the cloth to the contents inside.

In the center were a brush and an inkstick, a slightly crumpled set of colored paper, and a few skewers of grilled meat.  Inuyasha’s mouth salivated.  Fear forgotten and hunger growing, Inuyasha reached to grab at the meat, but stopped at the sight of the dirt on his hands and under his fingernails.

Mother always said clean hands made a meal more delicious.

Sighing, he sprung back to his feet and trotted over to the stream.  After kneeling at the edge, he swished his hands through the cool water, soaking the edge of his sleeves.  Though his own reflection was a muddle of blacks and reds and a hint of a face, his eyes caught the glimmer of the stars reflect in the stream’s surface, wandering over the ripples.  He followed the designs, mesmerized, stopping at a pale reflection.

The moon is really pretty tonight.

Inuyasha’s hands stilled.

The reflection of the moon.  On the night of the new moon…?

He slowly lifted his eyes from the water to the source of the reflection.

Dark boots.  White silk.  Dark armor held up with a sash.  The sash—the light was too dim to tell the color.  A tumble of creamy fur over one shoulder.  Spiked metal over the other.   Long tresses falling low, white and pure as the light of the moon.  A fringe of it fell over a face, casting it into shadow.  The eyes—the shadows were too deep to tell the color.

Inuyasha stared.

“Are you the moon?” he asked.

“I am many things,” a deep voice answered.  “I, however, am not that.”

“Are you my father?” Inuyasha tilted his head, squinting, trying to determine the white figure’s features.  “Did you come back over the river of stars?”

“I am neither your father, nor have I done such a thing.  You are no child of mine.”

“Oh.  Then who are you?  Why are you here?”

“For now, my identity and my reasons for being here are mine to keep.  You are not privy to them.”

“Okay, okay.  Grown-ups and their secrets.”  Inuyasha scrunched his nose and glared up at the shadowy face. With another complaint about to leave his mouth, his stomach grumbled, making its own complaints.  His glare fading, he let out a small giggle.  “I dunno a lot of things, mister, but I do know when I’m hungry.  My stomach never keeps _that_ a secret.  You mind if I eat?”

The white figure sniffed.

“Do as you like.”

Inuyasha turned and pattered over the rocks that bordered the stream, leaping over a large one to land in the grass.  The stranger who was neither the moon nor his father didn’t move to follow.

Plopping down on the grass near his loot and crossing his legs, Inuyasha grabbed a skewer of meat in each of his now clean hands.  Eager for his first meal in days, he opened his mouth wide to chomp down.  Then, he hesitated.  He brought his hand back down, his gaping mouth drawing itself slightly closed.  He called over to the figure who remained on the other side of the stream, watching.

“Do you wanna try some?” He said, holding out the skewer in his left hand.  “I don’t got much, but you can have one if you like!”

“As a demon, I rarely have a need for any sustenance, let alone human food.” 

 “You’re a demon?  Wow!”  Inuyasha’s eyes grew as wide as saucers, his mouth opened slightly in surprise.  His hands lowered, the lure of the meat overpowered by his interest in the white figure. Looking closer, he saw that the figure—or demon, rather—had some traits that would be strange for a human.  First of all, the demon’s ears tapered into points instead of the soft, rounded curves of a human’s.   Second, neither his voice nor stance suggested the years that usually came with hair so white.  Admiration flooded Inuyasha’s features as his initial shock wore off.  He offered up a small, shy smile.  “My father was a demon.”

The demon nodded his head.  “As was mine.”

“Well, yeah, of course.”  Inuyasha snorted.  “It’s kind of hard to have demon babies without two demons, or human babies without two humans.  I would know.”

Feeling the skewers still held in his palms, Inuyasha resumed where he left off, dragging the meat off the sticks.  He glanced up at the demon. “Id mufftt be nishe,” he said between the biggest mouthfuls he could manage, “ta nod needta eat.”  He swallowed the morsels down with a gulp.

“Could you repeat that for me?” the demon asked.  “It was hard to hear you through all of… _that_.” He gestured with his claws at the skewers Inuyasha was currently scraping his teeth with.

“It must be nice.  To not need to eat, is what I said.” Inuyasha picked at his teeth with a skewer end, running his tongue along his teeth.  “Why can’t I be a demon like you?”

“Most likely because you would insist on shoving everything edible in your mouth regardless of its necessity.  Or at least that is what I can deduct from your current dining habits.”

“I don’t wanna hear that from some demon that never gets hungry!  You’re just like my mother.”

“Your mother.”  A harsh tone made the demon’s words brittle.

Inuyasha’s shoulders sagged.  But he was too busy caught in past memories to hear the change in the demon’s voice.  “Or more like you’re just like how my mother _was_.”  He flicked the barren skewers into the bushes.  Dragging himself to his feet, he plodded back to the stream.  He plunged his hands into the shimmering water.  Maybe the water could wash away more than just the oil that clung to them….

“At least you are mindful enough to wash your hands.”

“Mother would’ve scolded me if I didn’t.”  Inuyasha patted his hands dry on his hakama.  “I may be a little rough around the edges, but mother sure wasn’t.”  He returned to the remaining items from the bundle; the brush, the stick of ink, and the papers.  Sorting through the slips of paper, he picked out the ones that were ruined by being wrapped together with the meat.  He tossed them in the air, where the wind caught them.  They fluttered up into the canopy until they disappeared among the leaves.

Settling on a paper that seemed to be red despite the dim light, Inuyasha shoved the rest of the papers into the front flap of his clothes.  Then he grabbed the inkstick and brush along with the red paper and neared the bank by the demon.  Choosing a flat stone, he set his paper down on its surface. 

“Tonight’s Tanabata!  Did you know that?”  Inuyasha took the brush in one hand and the inkstone in the other.  When no response came from the demon, still as a statue, he prattled on.  “It’s this story of this princess, her pushover husband, and her lousy father who tries to keep them apart.  I thought it was dumb, but my mother liked it a lot.  I even buried her somewhere where she can get a clear view of the stars.

“Anyway, people nowadays make wishes on this night by writing them on these skinny paper things and tying them to a bamboo tree branch.  That’s why I got these,” he said, holding up the writing implements and gesturing to the paper.  Unwittingly, his hold was a little loose and the inkstick fell from his hand and cracked on the rock beneath it.  His eyes followed as the pieces of it splashed into the water. 

Inuyasha threw the brush down, throwing himself forward to lunge at the remnants of the inkstick.  He swiped around, sloshing through the water.  Most of it escaped him, but he managed to uncover a fragment and fish it back out.  He opened his hand.

“Mother’s gotta be in tears right now.”  Even as he watched, the black liquid fell through the cracks in his fingers.  He let it splash down his clothes and the mess of his hair, sighing. “Tears of laughter, probably.  She always made fun of me for being a klutz.”

Inuyasha sat down and frowned at the sooty mess of his palms.  His lip jutted out in a pout. 

“What do I do now?”

Tears burned the back of his eyes.  He would’ve allowed them to fall if he didn’t notice that something was missing.  The demon was gone from his side of the bank.

“Where’d he go….”  Inuyasha scanned around.  He shook his head to clear the hair from his eyes, and nearly leapt into the air in shock when he found the demon, legs folded under him, sitting at Inuyasha’s side. 

The demon dipped the brush into the stream, and ran it across Inuyasha’s loosely opened palms.  The soft bristles of the brush tickled his palms and he squirmed.   Although he tried, Inuyasha couldn’t help but giggle at the sensations. 

The demon held the inked brush over the red paper.  “Tell me what you wish for, and I shall write it for you.”

“Really?”  Inuyasha grinned. “My wish is this:  I want to meet my brother!”  After wiping some of the ink off of his hands, he twisted the ends of his hair through his fingers, suddenly nervous.

“I have a brother, you see.  Or at least that’s what Mother told me.”  Inuyasha leaned over to watch the long, clawed fingers make graceful brushstrokes across the paper. 

When the demon was finished, he set the brush down.  Inuyasha picked up the paper and inspected it.

“I dunno exactly what it says, but your writing is nicer than mine.  And you even used kanji! But I can barely remember hiragana.”  He picked up the brush where the demon had left it.  “All I _can_ remember is my name. I-nu-ya-sha.”   He signed his name.  The characters were shaky in his attempt to fit them in the tiny space. 

“You really are like my mother.  You can read and write stuff.  You use fancy words.”

Inuyasha peeked through the gap in his hair to see the demon’s face in profile, finally illuminated by the starlight.

“You’re almost as beautiful as her, too.”  The demon turned to face Inuyasha in full.  The boy looked up and his eyes ran over the delicate stripes at the cheekbones, the golden eyes lined with pink, and the crescent moon set upon his brow.  He went even further up, following the fall of hair that framed the demon’s face.

“Do a lot of demons have white hair?”

“Many do, and many do not.  I happen to possess that particular trait.”

“Right….”  Next, Inuyasha peered into the demon’s eyes.  “Then, do a lot of demons have eyes that’re gold?”

“Some do, and some do not.  I possess that trait as well.”  The demon stared back, unblinking.

Withering under the demon’s gaze, Inuyasha ducked his head down.  He saw the remaining papers sticking out from between the layers of his clothes.  He pulled them out and inspected them.     
  
“Aha!” Locating the one strip that shone under his fingers, Inuyasha tugged it out.

“Do you want to make a wish?”  He offered the paper to the demon. “This one is gold, like your eyes!”

The golden eyes glinted.

“Wishes are for those too weak to make their wants a reality.”  The demon stood.  “I have no need for such things as wishes.”  With that, the demon turned his heel and sprung into the air, his hair and fur streaming out behind him.  He went higher and higher until Inuyasha couldn’t tell the demon in white from the stars in the sky.

\--

 

Sometimes, when Inuyasha is fighting off sleep on the nights of the full moon, he sees. 

He sees the reflection of the moon on water, glimmering white where there should only be the deepest shade.  No matter how much he peers at it, the pale lines and shapes dance before him and make his tired eyes blink in confusion. 

When he was younger, he liked to believe that it was the moon itself, come down from the sky to watch over him on the nights he needed it most.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to all my friends who beta'd this, I love you all! And thanks to the readers of my story, too! I hope you enjoyed it even though I tend to write my stories kind of bittersweet and not very action-y.
> 
> I wonder if I wrote Inuyasha as too naive or eloquent for a kid of mayyyybe 8 at the oldest?
> 
> Anyway, Tanabata's coming just around the corner, so make sure to make your wishes, everybody!
> 
> (Crossposted to ff.net)


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